Emma in University
by Treesh Aradia
Summary: You do realise the adult way to handle an inter-office conflict is to talk to the person? Not beat a graphically engineered thug figure with a crow bar?


A/N: A modern day version of Emma, since there are far too many P&P ones done at the moment. Think Godfather. Think Emma. A) Emma in University

_Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old. I have seen a great many lists of her drawing up at various times of books that she meant to read regularly through—and very good lists they were—very well chosen, and very neatly arranged—sometimes alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew up when only fourteen—I remember thinking it did her judgment so much credit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made out a very good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of steady reading from Emma. She will never submit to any thing requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding._

She was focused and determined. And she has been at it for days. It being her favourite game Grand Theft Auto, San Andres. "Die, take that Heathen!!!"

"I can't ever fathom the image of a doctorate student taking her frustrations out on a silly game. But here you are, proving me wrong...yet again. You do realise the adult way to handle an inter-office conflict is to talk to the person? Not beat a graphically engineered thug figure with a crow bar?"

Emma squeaked upon having heard the cynical voice in the cavern of her little hall. "Can you get any creepier Mr. Phantom of the Auditorium?! Jeez. Scare me to death will you. And for your information, Grand Theft is a way to transfer superfluous pent up erm, rage. I'll get to having that talk with Jane soon."

"By your definition of time, soon shall be approximated to never then" George arched one eyebrow, arms folded across the wide expanse of his chest, "I take it pummeling Mr. mafia boss isn't due to your perpetual displeasure with the beautiful Jane alone, is it Emz?" He added a slight smirk as he waited for her reply.

The television goes mute and the screen freezes to a picture of a Mexican shootout involving plumbers and lorries.

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes not locking your doors brought with it trouble. Case in point, George Knightley. Liberal Moralist extraordinaire. Oh and also an Anthropologist cum Sociology Professor. Quite a paradox given that the study of Sociology often conflicted with one's own set of morals. Quote:'...Morals are subjective. They are as Durkheim postulates a form of boundary making. It raises the issue of power, who creates these morals? The echelons? The aristocrats?' Unquote...How she hated listening to his spiel.

She had to concede though, he did give a very good lecture on Deviance and Durkheim. Still!

"What brings you by Professor Knightley? The graded papers for Friday's test is on kitchen table."

It's his turn for a mental eye roll now. If she could not win their little tête-à-tête, she would bring it back to school. Sometimes he regretted hiring her as one of his tutors in his Religion class.

"Can't an old friend come by?" He asked, feigning exasperation. A sort of banter he so readily wields on only the most trusted of peers. There is a distinction between that and colleagues. It was odd, that their intimacy were to be forged due to a link from her mother's side, one that preceded even the social barriers of societal etiquette, read: Professor and Pupil - even if said pupil were a graduate, and more a colleague than anything else.

"My _mother's_ old friend you mean, oh and I do mean old." Contrasting Knightley's nearing mid thirties - which was somewhat young for tenure - to her own twenty three, he seemed eons away from Generation Now. Given his public disposition and friendly firmness in his class, she often forgot that outside of the sphere of professionalism he was oft lively and not as geriatric as she pictures.

"Well, surely the span of ten years of friendship with your mother has translated to ten years of friendship with you?" He asked.

In actuality, she did not need to ask the reason for his impromptu visit. The smirk on his face is telling enough.

"You came here to gloat did you not? Well have at it. Look at me, the girl who has recently lost her best friend."

His laughter resembles that of a bark, "ahh, so it really is Harry's trip to the Bahamas with James that has got you all violent today then."

She did not appreciate his merriment at her loss. Significant as it is. Since he was here though, she might as well whinge. "Why must he leave me alone this semester! Did I not come to his aid when his ex dumped him for that fireman? Here I am, in my vast solitude."

"Solitude? Emma you're living with two other housemates. One of them being quite voluble and expressive?!"

She just stared at him, willing him to turn to a pile of ritualistic sacra, inanimate and non-responsive.

"Wanna grab lunch?" She asked him, resigned to the fact she does not possess magical powers.

"Sure."


End file.
